


A Kind of Love Called Maintenance

by Likelightinglass



Series: Sly and Songful [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Harry Potter, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Its the little things, Love, M/M, Marriage, Short & Sweet, everyone's love language is acts of service, with a minor in gift giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likelightinglass/pseuds/Likelightinglass
Summary: Harry is out for the day and off being a bird, but Severus finds the house is still full of him.All the ways they love each other, in all the little things.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Sly and Songful [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848706
Comments: 20
Kudos: 187





	A Kind of Love Called Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleedcolor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedcolor/gifts).



> For bleedcolor, who lights up my life.  
> I also want you and everyone to know that it took every brain cell I had not to title this "2 Sly 2 Songful", since its a sequel to Sly and Songful. And you know what? I still kind of want to. Thank you for being my friend and cheerleader and for just being the very best around.

_There is a kind of love called maintenance  
Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it_

_Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget  
The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;_

_Which answers letters; which knows the way  
The money goes; which deals with dentists_

_And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,  
And postcards to the lonely; which upholds_

_The permanently rickety elaborate  
Structures of living, which is Atlas._

_And maintenance is the sensible side of love,  
Which knows what time and weather are doing  
To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;  
Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers  
My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps  
My suspect edifice upright in air,  
As Atlas did the sky._

_\--Atlas, U.A. Fanthorpe_

When Severus is able to pull himself out of sleep, shifting against the pillow and blinking open his eyes, he becomes aware of three things. The first was the lack of a warm body next him, where there should have been a puff of black hair, or the long expanse of a brown back, or, even better, half open green eyes and a sleepy smile. The second was the morning light streaming in through the open window. The third was a piece of parchment, lit as if by a spotlight by the sun pouring in from the window, and occupying the space where Harry was not.

It was a testament to how long they’d been together, how sure Severus was in Harry’s love that his heart did not clench in fear, and he did not immediately assume the worst. He just picked up the parchment and read what Harry had written. It was short, and exactly what Severus expected.

_Sev,  
Had a bad night. Needed to go flying.  
I love you,  
Harry_

A quick glance at the corner where Harry’s Firebolt stood propped against the wall and the fact that the window was open confirmed that Harry had gone flying while in his animagus form. It had been a while since Harry sought freedom in being a nightingale, and needed to take the time to be alone, fly around, forget the burdens of being human. It had been even longer since the war, since the final battle with the Dark Lord, but just because the things that gave Harry nightmares had happened so many years ago did not mean they were any less difficult to remember. Severus had taken a long time to learn that this was not a reflection on himself, or Harry’s desire to be with him. Sometime’s Harry just needed to be a bird and Severus needed to let him. 

Severus decides it’s time to start the day. He gets up, makes the bed, pulls on a dressing gown and keeps the note bearing Harry’s love in his pyjama pants pocket, wanting to keep it close to him. He makes his way to their kitchen, stopping to take in the pictures that lined the hallway wall. 

There's family photos there, not by blood but all the family that Harry has made. And, by being Harry's, they are the family Severus has made too. He trails a fingertip along the frame of a photo from their bonding ceremony. A rather ridiculous one the photographer had insisted upon, Harry grinning wide, his scarred and beautiful face smashed in by Ron and Hermionie kissing him on either cheek. He can't help but smile to see it, and the one next to it, in which they were probably supposed to be looking at the camera, but their eyes are on each other, and the smile on Harry's face as he looks at him is not something Severus could hope to deserve in a hundred lifetimes. The Severus in the photo is in love too, but deeply confused. Severus remembers that photo well, and how he felt: how extraordinary it was to realize he not only got to have nice things, but keep them too.

He continues on towards the kitchen, taking a moment to watch the moving picture of Harry being piled on by a gaggle of nieces and nephews, and falls in love all over again. He can't really take more than a few steps in the house without falling in love with Harry, whether he's physically here or not. 

He sees Harry again in the kitchen, when he sees how it's been straightened up after dinner last night, the kettle is set out and his potions neatly lined up next to it. 'So you don't have any excuse to forget them!' He remembers Harry saying so many years ago. Harry always leaves the healing potions Severus takes every day by the kettle, has been doing it for years and years. This morning there's a tin of a tea blend he doesn't recognize next to it, a piece of parchment stuck to it with a mild sticking charm. Severus pulls it off to read. 

_Marty at the shop says this blend is like that weird spicy one you said you enjoyed but they discontinued. Give a try. Or bin it and drink Earl Grey like a normal person. Love you_

He pockets the note. Sometime around when Harry first started work at the hospital, they realized between Healer shifts and brewing time sensitive potions they tended to keep missing each other more often than they would have liked. Harry started leaving little notes, and Severus responded, and over the years it had become a staple of their relationship. Not just for urgent matters, but for general messages, and sometimes just a sweet thought written down for the other to find later. 

As Severus sips the tea, he can’t decide if he likes it or not. He will experiment with adding more milk in his next cup to see if that changes things. He notes the calendar hanging on the wall with events scrawled in, Harrys work schedule for the week tacked up beside it. He sees Harry has three long shifts in a row, starting in the early morning. He’s disappointed for a moment, there will be no sleeping in together for several more days, but goes to gather ingredients for scones. He has fresh blueberries, washes them and folds them into the mix. They’re Harry’s favorite, and he won’t have time to make himself anything the next few mornings. Severus doesn't want him forgetting to eat so he makes the scones, sips his tea, reads the paper. Takes one for himself, then packs the others in a clear plastic container, sticks a note on top about how Harry will be no use to anyone if he drops dead from hunger, and that Severus doesn’t want to see the blueberries going to waste. 

Next stop is the laundry, and he gathers up the newly laundered Healer’s robes and brings them to their bedroom. He casts a quick ironing charm to ensure there are no wrinkles and hangs one up on the rod beside their wardrobe, so Harry doesn’t have to blunder around in the morning looking for it. He puts away the rest of the laundry, straightens up the room. He gets dressed in some loose and comfortable clothes, it’s a good day for the garden. He notices his old gardening boots have been pulled towards the front of the closet, and there’s the magical residue of a fresh Reparo on the outside. Severus remembers Harry threatening him that he’d buy him brand new boots if he had to cast one more Reparo on the old ones, so he expects they’ll be an extravagantly expensive new pair in his near future. It used to annoy him, a very long time ago, that Harry spent so much of his money on things that were not strict necessities, on new boots when the old ones were still adequate. But he sees it now for what it is, another expression of Harry’s love for him, and he’s appropriately grateful. 

He makes his way out to the garden, does some work, weeds the flowerbeds and gathers a few ingredients. A few bulbs of shrivelfig were ripe enough to incorporate into a base for a variety of potions for inflammation, so he puts those in a conjured pousch and elects to start on that the next morning. He gathers a few sprigs of rosemary as well, but that will be used for culinary concoctions, not a magical potion. 

The hyacinths are blooming quite nicely, so he pulls a few out to bring inside the house. When he comes in he cuts the stems, spells them to stay fresh, arranges them in a glass vase and sets them out on the side table where Harry always leaves his bits and bobs. He knows Harry likes that poem, the one that mentions the hyacinths, and something about coming in from the garden, so he finds some parchment and writes down the lines he can remember. _I could not speak, and my eyes failed. I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing, looking into the heart of light, the silence_. He hopes that’s right, but Harry won’t tell him if he’s wrong. 

Flowers arranged and note left tucked half underneath the vase, Severus spells himself clean and goes to change into some comfortable house clothes. Harry isn’t back yet, but it’s not nearly long enough to start to get worried. He might have decided to visit his friends, or his godfather. More likely, he’s found a quiet spot in the woods. Maybe he was singing. Severus hoped he was, when Harry was singing, it meant he was happy. He had once told Severus that he sang only for him, but Severus is glad that wasn’t true. Harry should sing only for himself, and Severus is just grateful he gets to hear it.

Looking for an activity to keep his mind occupied, he picks up a little book of crossword puzzles Harry had got him the other day. One of those books stacked up near the checkout line at the grocery. Harry could barely go on a shopping trip without bringing home a little gift, usually for Severus, but plenty for his friends and the children. Severus settles into the armchair with a ballpoint pen, summons his reading glasses and sets to work. There's a satisfaction that comes with scratching letters neatly inside the little boxes, seeing the whole puzzle fill in, knowing the answers are correct. He turns to the front of the cover where Harry’s scrawled in a little note. _It’s less impressive that you do these in ink when you’re a wizard who knows how to spell away mistakes without a trace! You’re still a genius though. -H_ Severus smiles, runs his fingers over the familiar slants of Harry’s handwriting, and he loves him. 

Eventually, his hunger leads him to the kitchen, and he puts together something simple, egg salad for sandwiches and cuts up an apple to have with it. He makes enough for two, just in case Harry comes back soon and decides he’s hungry. If not, it’ll keep just fine in the fridge. He uses the German mustard he favors, the kind they don’t sell at the local grocery, the one Harry picks up for him when he goes into the Muggle supermarket in town. They should go to Berlin again soon, Severus decides. They’re due for a holiday. Or maybe Australia, or the Caribbean. Harry usually arranges the trips, but a surprise never goes amiss. He determines to speak to an agent next week, already thinking about how excited Harry will be, and his heart beats faster at the thought of Harry’s smile. It’s among his very favorite sights, even still, though he’d been seeing it for decades. Yes, a holiday was just the right idea. 

He wanders into the living room. When roles are reversed, and Severus finds himself needing to take on his animagus form and just be a fox for a while, this is where Harry usually finds him, curled up on the rug in front of the fire. He tends to be a bit...clingy as a fox, not at all like Harry-as-a-nightingale, but Harry understands it.  
He always gives him what he needs. Stays close by, is very generous with cuddles and pets. Bird and fox aren’t a terribly likely combination, although honestly, who would have supposed human Harry and human Severus to be a likely combination? Certainly not him. Nevertheless, they occasionally spend time together while both in their animagus forms, spending time outside on their property, or occasionally on Hogwarts grounds and the surrounding forest, for nostalgia’s sake. 

They actually hadn’t done that in awhile, not since earlier this year, when the first hints of spring shone through the woods after a long, cold winter. They should, though. He liked scampering after Harry along the forest floor, until Harry had flown out of sight, and he had to listen for singing to find him again. Severus smiles to himself at the thought. He’d suggest that later, if Harry was up for it. 

It’s early afternoon now, and Severus has tidied what needs to be tidied, and he doesn’t have any pressing potions orders to fill, so he surveys the bookshelf looking for something to read. He picks an old favorite at random, _Persuasion_ , and makes his way over to the record player, puts on something light and fun that Harry’s always trying to get him to dance along with. He usually puts up a show of refusing until finally giving in with a roll of his eyes and a put upon sigh. As if he wouldn’t do anything for Harry. As if Harry doesn’t know it. 

A scrap of parchment falls out from the cover when he removes the album, and he leans over to pick it up. It’s a short one, probably scrawled as an afterthought and left for some future Severus to read. Harry does that sometimes, and Severus loves him. _S- You make my heart sing. -H_ He reads it about a dozen times, then pockets it. The parchment can’t possibly be physically hot, but he’s warm all over. 

Music fills the room and Severus opens the living room window to let in the breeze, and Harry too if he decides to enter this way. If he comes in through the upstairs bedroom window instead, that’s fine too. 

Severus lays back on the couch, puts his head back on one plush armrest and his feet up on the other. He’s quickly absorbed in his reading, absentmindedly hums along to the record. When it gets to the song Harry usually belts as loud as he can, Severus starts singing along too. As if summoned by his ruined and raspy voice, birdsong comes from the windowsill.

Severus props himself up, peeking his head over the couch and gazes at the little brown bird. A ruffle of feathers on his head, little gems of green eyes staring back. Harry’s home.

The nightingale flies off the windowsill and crosses the room, settling on the back of the couch. He chirps at Severus expectantly, then continues to sing along to the song on the record player. Severus smiles, reaches up to stroke his feathers, very delicately. Harry is such a small bird, and his bones are rather fragile in this form. Harry tilts his head, leaning into the touch, before jumping off, shifting form while taking flight to fall against Severus ungracefully. Severus catches him, moving to the side so the weight is more on the couch than his chest, then pulls him up to cuddle against him comfortably.

“Hi,” Harry says softly, a half smile on his face. “I missed you.”

“Hello,” Severus responds, and presses a kiss to the pitted lines along Harry’s cheek. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did,” Harry replied. “Did you? I’m sorry I wasn’t here all day.”

“Of course you were here,” Severus replies, because it’s true. Harry’s always here, even when he’s not. And when he leaves, he always comes home. To him. 

He pulls Harry close, tangles his fingers in his hair and simply holds him. "I love you," he adds next, and it's the truest thing he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem that Severus quotes about the hyacinths is "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot.


End file.
